


where the lost get found

by ThirtySixSaveFiles



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Adults, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Goro is an actual detective, IRL Thieves AU, M/M, brief description of animal experimentation, brief description of animal testing environment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 19:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17986865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirtySixSaveFiles/pseuds/ThirtySixSaveFiles
Summary: The Phantom Thieves are famous throughout Japan for their seemingly impossible heists; banks, museums, corporate offices - no target is, apparently, too difficult for this crew, and they ghost past security measures like the specters they’ve taken as their namesake.When Detective Goro Akechi lands the Phantom Thieves case, he’s sure that this will be the one that will get him the recognition he deserves. And when he gets his hands on their absolutelymaddeningleader, he's going topersonallylock him up and throw away the key.Getting caught isn't in Akira's plans at all, but he is nothing if not inventive. And anyway, any detective who can get that close to him is intriguing, despite the danger.(Or perhaps, because of it.)





	1. Akira

**Author's Note:**

> This story owes a giant debt to [fleurdeliser](http://fleurdeliser.tumblr.com/) and [ohnoktcsk](http://ohnoktcsk.tumblr.com/), with whom I sketched out the initial idea and who relentlessly cheered me over the finish line. This story would not exist as you see it without them. <3
> 
> It _also_ would not exist as you see it without the fantastic beta from [ssealdog](http://ssealdog.tumblr.com). Thank you so much, my friend.
> 
> Finally, this story was written for the Persona 5 Big Bang and is accompanied by fantastic art by [MallyEstelleArt](http://mallyestelleart.tumblr.com/) [HERE](http://mallyestelleart.tumblr.com/post/183196284586/i-actually-had-two-pieces-for-this-project) and [kwokwhart](https://kwokwhart.tumblr.com/) [HERE](https://kwokwhart.tumblr.com/post/183205197218/heres-a-project-ive-been-working-on-these-few). Thank you so much for your patience working with me!

The blare of the alarm almost drowns out the pounding of Akira’s boots as he sprints down the corridor. He has two minutes, maybe three before the guards he’d lost on the third floor catch on that he’d gone _down_ and not _up_ \- he needs an exit, and he needs it fast. His earpiece crackles as the rest of the infiltration team checks in, breathless but _safe_ , and a band of tightness releases around his chest. He’d bought them enough time.

Now to see if _he_ has enough of it. Getting caught at this stage would be - inconvenient, to say the least.

Akira pushes through the stairwell doorway and vaults over the railing. He lands in a crouch and straightens; he’s expecting at least one guard, left to block the way out, but there’s - no one. The stairwell is empty.

Sloppy; but it’s not like Akira is going to be giving security pointers. A door _clangs_ open somewhere above him, and he’s out of time; Akira pushes through to the main floor, letting the door swing shut behind him.

The alarm echoes even more here, the vaulted ceilings taking the sound and magnifying it even in this rear corridor. Streetlight spills through the leaded windows as Akira kneels and listens by the entrance to the main hall. Boots thump and radios squawk on the other side of the door; that way is out, unless he wants to walk right into the arms of the police.

Akira turns and eyes the windows.

He runs his fingers over the seams; paint flakes off under his gloves. It’s old - like the building, like the security system _should_ have been - and with the proper application of force...

There’s a tap on the other side of the glass, and Akira looks up into Ryuji’s grin. He’s doubled back; he shouldn’t have done that, he should have gotten out when he had the chance - but he’s hefting a crowbar and Akira’s in no position to argue. Maybe later, when they don’t have half of the Tokyo police force breathing down their necks - but for now he steps back as Ryuji wedges the crowbar in place and _pulls_ , arms straining and face set in concentration.

The next several moments happen very fast.

A quiet _snick_ reaches his ears over the alarm. Ryuji shouts, but it’s muffled by the lead-lined glass. There’s a sudden weight on his wrist where there shouldn’t be; he jerks away from it but doesn’t get very far, body turning as if his wrist is anchored, as if he’s -

Handcuffed.

His eyes flick from the cuff digging into his wrist to its mate, fastened securely just above the wrist of a familiar black glove, and up to the face of one Detective Goro Akechi, smiling serenely at him.

“Your road ends here, thief,” Akechi says mildly, but his eyes are glinting with barely suppressed satisfaction.

Akira has had a lot of fun playing with the Tokyo Police Department’s rising star, but he doesn’t have _time_ for this.

He draws the knife strapped to his thigh and steps up close in one movement, pressing the blade to Akechi’s neck.

“The key, please,” he says, voice pitched to carry just between the two of them as the alarm continues to sound.

Akechi’s smile widens.

He reaches his free hand inside his jacket, and Akira presses the blade in a little harder, just in case it’s a trick - but when Akechi’s hand withdraws he’s holding a key, glinting silver in the moonlight.

Then he throws it, _hard,_ over Akira’s shoulder. Akira can hear it _tinkle_ on the ground somewhere behind him, even over the klaxon of the alarm.

He doesn’t have _time_ for this.

The window frame _crunches_ as Ryuji gets it open, and Akira makes his decision.

He reverses the knife and clubs Akechi across the temple; the detective’s eyes roll up and he sags into Akira’s waiting arms. He’s heavier than he looks, and Akira grunts as he drags him toward the window.

“Change of plans,” he says, accepting Ryuji’s waiting hand. “We’re taking him with us.”


	2. Goro

**_Two Months Ago_ **

“Goro,” Sae Niijima says gently, or as gently as she gets. “It’s late. Go home.”

Goro raises his arms over his head and stretches as he looks up at her, wincing at the _pop_ of bones snapping back into alignment. “I’m fine, Niijima-san.”

“Sure,” Sae says skeptically. “And that wasn’t your spine I heard just now.”

Goro lowers his arms and glares. “Every minute I’m away from this desk is another minute the Phantom Thieves have to plan their next move. They’ve had entirely too long to do as they please with this city.”

Sae makes a thoughtful noise, then pulls up a chair next to Goro’s desk. He sighs as she sits. He respects her - she’s one of the most capable prosecutors in the justice building, and they’ve closed more than one “impossible” case together - but it’s precisely _because_ he knows how capable she is that he dreads these little talks

“Tell me again why you took this case,” she says.

“I told you,” he says, twisting his pen in his fingers. “These so-called _phantoms_ have held this city hostage for months. Everyone’s afraid that they’ll be next, that they’ll wake up to be the morning’s headline.”

“Hm.” Sae folds her hands together and rests them on his desk, leaning forward. “They say the Thieves can walk through walls, that no security system can keep them out. How do you plan to counter ghosts, detective?”

Goro barely keeps from rolling his eyes. “There’s no such thing as ghosts, Niijima-san. The Phantom Thieves are as human as you or I - there’s nothing supernatural about this at all.”

“Of course, of course.” Sae’s eyes glint. “And Tokyo’s youngest detective solving Tokyo’s biggest problem - that’s quite the headline. Quite the boost to your career.”

Goro eyes her flatly. “I’m just cleaning up the mess that no one else will touch.” He permits himself a small smile. “I’m sure the powers that be will recognize hard work when they see it.”

Sae’s mouth goes flat. “Speaking of - I notice Masoyoshi Shido has taken an interest in this case. Or is the interest in you?”

Goro maintains his smile through force of will. “I’m sure Shido-san just recognizes the value of my efforts toward keeping the peace in this city.”

Shido’s not the first politician Goro’s worked with, and if all goes well he won’t be the last; he is, however, quite possibly the one that makes Goro’s skin crawl the most. Goro isn’t blind to the deals that are made, the bribes that are passed around the department to look the other way, to conveniently leave a name out of a report. Shido also recognizes a rising star when he sees one, and he’d come by more than once to ensure Goro knew that he expected great things.

“You mean results,” Goro had said.

Shido had smiled, eyes cool behind his glasses. “It’s all the same, in the end. Tokyo needs peace, and if you can’t deliver that to me I will find someone who can.”

Sae doesn’t respond, gazing at Goro as if she can read his thoughts through force of will. If anyone could, he’d lay his money on her; but Goro has put a lot of effort into learning to keep his face pleasantly neutral, and he leans back in his chair, raising his eyebrows in challenge.

Goro will do what it takes to get ahead; but he doesn’t have to like the politicians who impose a toll on success.

Sae shakes her head, breaking eye contact. “Be careful,” is all she says. “You’ve got a bright career ahead of you if you can pull this off - but I can’t protect you if you get reckless.”

“I don’t need your protection, Niijima-san,” Goro says stiffly, relenting when she just raises an eyebrow at him. “Although I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Your pardon,” a new voice says, and Goro looks up to see a technician standing awkwardly just past Sae’s chair. She lifts a folder in one hand. “I don’t want to interrupt, but - Yamamoto said you’d want to see these as soon as they were processed.”

“Are those the security stills from the Takahashi estate?” The technician nods and Goro gestures her over. “That was faster than Yamamoto promised.”

The technician hesitates. “It’s not - we weren’t able to recover much.”

“You must have _something_ , or you wouldn’t be standing in front of me,” Goro says testily, extending a hand. “The files, please.”

The technician hesitates again, then hands over the folder. Goro opens it eagerly as Sae comes around to stand behind his chair. The top photo is a still of the side entrance to the Takahashi estate, in grainy black and white with a timestamp in the lower right corner. Goro pages through the top three photos; they’re almost identical, except for the timestamp, and they show absolutely nothing out of the ordinary beyond the leaf or startled rabbit that had triggered the motion sensor.

Goro looks up. “I thought you said you had something.”

The technician swallows. “Keep going.”

Goro returns his attention to the photos. The next two are similar to the first three, but the one after that captures a blur of motion, a solitary figure moving into view of the lens. The next frame is a solid shot of the Phantom Thieves’ apparent leader leaning in toward the camera, holding up a card with cut out letters pasted together, forming a crudely formatted message.

_Better luck next time, Detective Akechi_ , it reads.

Goro’s hands clench on the paper, and he puts it down carefully, smoothing out the creases. This is fine. This is _fine_.

“Well,” Sae says dryly from behind him. “He’s certainly got your number.”

The technician coughs, and Goro raises his eyes. She pales.

“There’s, uh. There’s one more.”

Wonderful. Goro flips over the the last file in the folder.

Distantly, he can hear Sae smother what sounds suspiciously like a laugh behind him, but it’s difficult to hear over the rushing in his ears. The last photo shows the Phantom Thief in full view of the camera, bending over and blowing a kiss toward the lens. His eyes are bright behind the mask, full of amusement even in the low resolution of the security camera.

“I’m going to -” Goro cuts himself off before _murder him_ escapes.

“Thank you,” he hears Sae tell the technician. “You’re dismissed.”

Goro puts the photograph down with shaking fingers and presses his palms flat against the desk, forcing himself to breathe in and out regularly. Sae hadn’t been wrong, when she’d said this case would boost his career; at twenty-four, he’s the youngest detective on the force, and his typical caseload includes more purse-snatching than museum heists, but this is the case that’s going to change all of that. Solving this case, bringing the Phantom Thieves to justice, is going to bring him the recognition he _deserves_.

He can’t do that if he gives himself a heart attack over the _insolence_ of this particular Thief, but Akira Kurusu is making it hard to think straight.

Goro doesn’t _know_ that the Phantom Thieves’ leader is Kurusu, not for sure; he’s yet to find any evidence that will nail Kurusu to the wall, but the coincidences keep piling up. He’s too often in the periphery of the Thieves’ activity; always with an excuse, always with an alibi, but _there_ nonetheless. His build fits the silhouette of the only Thief they’ve managed to catch on camera. It _has_ to be him.

And then there are the...notes.

If recognition is what brought Goro to this case, the notes are what keeps him at his desk late into the night, although he’ll die before he tells even Sae Niijima that. _Better luck next time_ is the least of it - previous installments had included gems such as _Too slow, Detective_ and, _See you around_ and, humiliatingly, _Nice tie._ All with his name on them, all flashed at a security camera, or left at the scene, or once, slipped into his mailbox at work.

It _is_ a nice tie. Goro smoothes his hand over it, gritting his teeth.

Sae settles a hand on his shoulder as he carefully closes the folder and opens a drawer to file it with the others.

“So what’s your next move, Detective?” Her voice is still tinged with amusement, but there’s layer of steel underneath it that tells him that he’d better have a good answer.

“The Tokyo National Museum has been on the list of potential targets for months. I’m going to bump it up the list.” Goro slips the Takahashi file in alongside a growing stack of useless but meticulously collected security footage. “We’ll make it a target the Thieves can’t resist.”

“And if they take the bait?”

“ _When_ they take it,” Goro corrects, “I’ll arrest their leader myself. I will _personally_ escort him to the inside of a jail cell.” He shuts the drawer with a _bang_ that reverberates through the office. “And then I’m going to throw away the fucking key.”


	3. Goro

Goro’s head is killing him.

He squeezes his eyes shut against the piercing light - did he fall asleep with the lights on? He doesn’t remember coming home. Fog swirls in his brain, and his temple throbs; maybe he’d been trying to sleep off a migraine, but then why had he left the lights -

He tries to lift a hand to rub at his temple. It jerks, pulled up short by something around his wrist, and memory comes flooding back.

Goro opens his eyes.

The ceiling doesn’t tell him much - an attic room, perhaps, with exposed rafters and dusty corners - so he turns his head and is greeted with the sight of Akira Kurusu, maskless, leaning back in a chair next to the couch Goro finds himself on. Kurusu looks tired; he’s also failed to undo the handcuffs chaining them together, and their hands dangle awkwardly in the space between them.

“You are,” Goro says, clearing his throat. Kurusu’s eyes snap to his. “Without a doubt, the most _insufferable_ criminal I’ve ever had the misfortune of dealing with.”

Kurusu grins. “I’m flattered. I’m also impressed.” He leans forward in the chair, propping a forearm on his knee. “That stunt with the key took guts, detective.”

“I have plenty of guts,” Goro snaps, even as he kicks himself internally for rising to the bait.

“I’m sure you do,” Kurusu says, smile turning amused, and that is just the last fucking _straw._

Goro _growls_ , reaching out and grabbing Kurusu by the collar, hauling him out of the chair. How _dare_ he; how dare he upset Goro’s meticulously laid plans, how dare he sidestep the trap Goro had spent _weeks_ preparing, how _dare_ he sit there and _laugh_ at Goro, like he has _any_ idea what Goro is capable of.

Kurusu’s shins hit the side of the couch and he stumbles, catching himself with an arm next to Goro’s head. Goro pulls him close and bares his teeth, glaring into those grey eyes from centimeters away.

“Enjoy this freedom while you have it,” Goro hisses. “Because I will see you behind _bars_ , Kurusu. Count on it.”

Kurusu’s eyes are bright and interested, and he doesn’t seem the least bit perturbed, which only makes Goro the ringing in Goro’s ears louder.

“Am I, uh,” comes a dry voice from behind Kurusu’s back. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Like I said,” Kurusu says, pitched low to carry just between the two of them. “Guts.”

Then he pushes back, slipping free of Goro’s grasp and resettling in the chair. He tugs on the cuff so Goro is forced to sit up too, swinging his legs over the side of the couch and meeting the gaze of one Ryuji Sakamoto, known associate and apparent Phantom Thief. He’s still geared up from the evening’s adventures, and Goro wonders if the Thieves are getting ready to move.

For the first time, it occurs to him to wonder what they’re going to do with _him_.

“What’ve you got, Skull?” Kurusu asks, and Sakamoto leaves off sizing Goro up and looks to his leader.

“Not much. It was a trap, obviously.” Sakamoto glances at Goro. “We didn’t get the - we didn’t get what we came for but we got away clean, as far as Oracle can tell. Except for him, of course.”

“I don’t know,” Kurusu says, and Goro looks back to see Kurusu’s mouth pulling up. “I’m beginning to think this might be a bigger payoff than we were ever expecting.”

Goro breathes deliberately through his nose and refuses, _refuses_ to give Kurusu the satisfaction of a reaction.

Sakamoto coughs. “Yeah. Well. Anyway - Queen is going over the intel that got us here, Oracle is monitoring the police channels, and Noir -” Sakamoto clears his throat. “Noir wants to know if you want some tea. Either of you,” he adds, with a glance at Goro.

“Absolutely not,” Goro says, just as Kurusu says, “Yes, please.”

Goro glares as Kurusu glances over. “We’ll have tea, thank you,” Kurusu says, looking back at Sakamoto. “And some of those little cakes, if she has them.”

“Uh,” Sakamoto says, clearly unsure of his role as a waiter. “Sure.”

“I won’t drink anything you give me,” Goro snaps as Sakamoto disappears down a flight of stairs, even as he files away _Oracle_ and _Queen_ and _Noir_. Code names, clearly; they’re obviously trying to protect their crew. Goro wonders who among the dossiers scattered across his desk is currently sitting downstairs.

Kurusu sighs, leaning back in the chair. “I’m not going to poison you,” he says wearily. “We don’t kill. I _know_ you know that.”

“You haven’t killed _yet_ ,” Goro counters. “What happens when you’re pushed into a corner? What happens when the only way out is something drastic?”

Kurusu smiles slightly, and shakes his wrist, jangling the chain between them. “Something like this? We’ve managed so far, and you’re still alive. _And_ you’re going to stay that way,” he adds meaningfully.

“And I’m just supposed to - what, take your word for it? The _police_ are supposed to take your word for it? The public?” Goro sneers. “You _kidnapped_ a _detective_ \- your word means less than nothing.”

Kurusu goes silent for a long moment, eyes locked on Goro’s. Goro forces himself not to shift under that gaze, even as he can see the calculations running behind Kurusu’s eyes.

“No one knows where you are,” Kurusu says finally. “As far as the police can tell, you disappeared from the scene. The general chatter seems to think you're following a lead on your own, although they're a bit surprised you didn't make it to the debrief."

Long practice allows Goro to keep his face smooth, even as a tick of unease starts in his gut. Monitoring police radio channels are one thing; if Kurusu’s eyes are actually inside the justice building, inside the _debrief rooms_ , he’s deeper into the police network than Goro had even dreamed.

“If they’re lucky enough to get a location off of your phone, it’ll lead them to the Ueno sewers. We haven’t made an announcement of your whereabouts,” Kurusu continues in that mild, even tone. “Nor do I intend to. No one knows where you are, detective,” he repeats. “So yes, worthless though it may be, at this point my word is all you have.”

Goro fumes, but he bites his tongue as footsteps sound on the stairs. Sakamoto reappears, bearing a tray with two steaming cups and an assortment of snacks. Goro’s traitorous stomach growls at the sight. He’d skipped lunch, caught up in the minutiae of last-minute details for the ambush; he’s been running on anticipation and then adrenaline since the early morning. Kurusu shoots him an amused look and Goro steadfastly ignores it.

Sakamoto sets the tray down on the low table in front of the couch, and Kurusu nods his thanks, leaning forward to pick up one of the cups. Sakamoto folds his arms across his chest, as if he’s waiting; when all Kurusu does is take a sip, Sakamoto sighs explosively.

“Well?” Kurusu raises an eyebrow, and Sakamoto unfolds an arm for just long enough to wave it at Goro. “What are we going to do with him?”

Kurusu hums, eyes sliding back over to Goro. “That _is_ the question, isn’t it.”

Goro fists his free hand to keep from reaching for the plate of small sandwiches. They look delicious. “The police don’t deal in ransom.”

“Then it’s a good thing we’re not asking for one,” Kurusu says mildly. Sakamoto mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “fuckin’ _waste_ ,” but Goro ignores him. Kurusu watches him over the rim of his teacup, gaze considering.

“You could just let me go,” Goro offers into the silence. “It’s the safest course of action for everyone here.”

“Mmmm.” That doesn’t sound like agreement.

“I’m serious,” he insists. “The police will be moving soon, if they haven’t already.” It’s a bit more wishful thinking than reality - Goro’s been a part of one too many investigations to really believe that the wheels of justice move quickly, but what Kurusu doesn’t know won’t hurt Goro.

“Yeah, right,” Sakamoto scoffs. “Like we wouldn’t see ‘em coming a mile away.”

“You didn’t see _me_ coming,” Goro snaps, and he _really_ needs to watch his tongue but it’s been a very long day, and anyway the red on Sakamoto’s face is pettily satisfying.

“No,” Kurusu says thoughtfully, drawing Goro’s eyes back to him. “We certainly didn’t.” He leans forward and sets the cup down, and something about the _clink_ of china sets a foreboding stirring in Goro’s stomach.

“We’ll just have to keep him,” Kurusu says, like it’s nothing, like that is _at all_ acceptable.

“ _What_ ,” Goro hisses just as Sakamoto says “Are you for _real_?” and Kurusu raises his free hand.

“The police might not know where we are, but they _are_ out in force. It’s too dangerous to move about right now.” He’s speaking to Sakamoto but his eyes are on Goro. “And losing their best detective will stall the investigation. The _safest_ course of action is to keep him close.” Kurusu’s mouth pulls up in a self-satisfied grin and Goro flattens his palms against his thighs to keep from reaching over and strangling him.

“At the _very least_ , unchain me,” he says flatly, and Kurusu’s grin just widens.

“Can’t,” he says cheerfully. “You’re far too capable a detective for me to leave you to your own devices.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere except the inside of a cell,” Goro grits through his teeth.

“Shame,” Kurusu says with a wink, and Goro refuses to blush even as Sakamoto rolls his eyes.

“You can’t be ser- uh, okay, you _are_ serious,” Sakamoto says when Kurusu glances at him. “Joker, this is a bad idea. He might strangle you in your sleep, or something.”

“Cheerfully,” Goro says, and Kurusu has the audacity to _laugh_.

“I don’t think that’s true,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I’m the big prize, aren’t I? The leader of the Phantom Thieves,” he says, waving his free hand, and there’s something about the way he says it that gives Goro pause. “You wouldn’t give up your chance at bringing me in, would you? Besides, I’m told the police frown on murder.”

“No jury would convict me,” Goro says, but it sounds weak even to his own ears, and Kurusu smiles tiredly.

“We’ll come up with a better solution tomorrow. But for now,” he says, shaking his cuffed hand lightly, tugging its mate on Goro’s wrist. “I’m afraid this is as far as you go.”

Goro fumes, but exhaustion is starting to pull at his limbs. Short of physically knocking Kurusu out he doesn’t see a way out of this; even were Sakamoto not in the room, Goro has his doubts about how far he would get with Kurusu’s unconscious body chained to his wrist. He just has to bide his time. Tomorrow is a new day. An opportunity will present itself.

And if it doesn’t, Goro will make one.

“Fine,” he says cooly, ignoring Sakomoto’s squawk. “We’ll resume this discussion tomorrow. Until then, consider yourself on _temporary_ parole.”

Sakamoto mutters something _really_ uncomplimentary, and Kurusu’s eyes tighten.

“A truce, then,” he says, and it might be Goro’s imagination but Kurusu’s tone sounds a little less friendly; then again, maybe he’s just finally starting to take this _seriously_. Goro doesn’t have long to ponder it; Kurusu glances at Sakamoto and says, “I think I can handle it from here. Ask Oracle if she can take Mona tonight.”

Sakamoto shakes his head but he takes it for the dismissal that it is and doesn’t offer further argument, although he _does_ shoot Goro what is probably supposed to be a meaningful glare on his way out. Goro sniffs, raising his chin; he’s been threatened by worse than Sakamoto, and has never backed down. He refuses to start now. 

Sakamoto disappears down the stairs, and Goro glances back at Kurusu. He has his chin propped on his hand, and is watching Goro with an expression Goro can’t read. As Goro meets his eyes the lines of Kurusu’s face shift, falling back into a familiar pleasant, faintly amused mask.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything,” he says, gesturing at the tray, and Goro presses his lips together.

“I’m not hungry,” he says stiffly, ignoring the pang in his stomach. He can work past this. He has before.

Kurusu hums in polite disbelief but doesn’t press the subject. “Then I suggest bed, for now. I’m afraid we’ll have to make do with mine.”

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Goro says immediately.

Kurusu shrugs. “Suit yourself, but that sounds incredibly uncomfortable. And I can’t guarantee the last time it was swept.”

“Are you _sure_ I can’t convince you to unchain me,” Goro says desperately.

Kurusu sighs, and suddenly Goro can see the lines of exhaustion writ large through his body. “We’ve been over this. As much as I enjoy your company,” he says with a wry twist of his lips, “you’ve made your agenda very clear. I promise you have nothing to worry about from me, but it’s been - a day, and I’m tired. Things will look better in the morning,” he says, and it almost sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as much as Goro.

Goro rubs a hand over his face, suddenly aware of the gritty feeling in his eyes and the fatigue in his limbs. Sleep sounds increasingly attractive; it has been, as Kurusu says, a day, and Goro will need to be at his best to deal with Kurusu up close.

“All right,” he says on a sigh. “But first - where is your restroom?”

Using the bathroom is just as uncomfortably awkward as Goro had anticipated. The only saving grace is that the room itself is barely larger than an airline lavatory, allowing some small measure of privacy. The adventure _does_ grant Goro a look at the lower floor of the building, deserted now of its earlier occupants. The inside of a cafe of some sort, coffee bags lining the wall behind the counter; Goro thinks he recognizes the interior of _Leblanc_ , but Kurusu doesn’t let him look around for long, hustling him back upstairs as soon as possible.

Shoes and gloves are relatively easy to deal with, but Goro glances at the sleeves of his coat in dismay. Kurusu shrugs apologetically, but he doesn’t go to unchain Goro either, kicking off his own boots and tugging Goro over toward the bed. It’s a rather close fit, but Goro is starting to move past caring, exhaustion tugging at his steps and settling over his thoughts.

They end up on their sides facing each other, their chained arms folded between them. It’s - intimate, incredibly so, and Goro feels himself tense as Kurusu draws the covers up over them.

“You’ll see,” Kurusu says, settling down. “Things will look better in the morning.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Goro says, shutting his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at Kurusu’s stupid face. He hears Kurusu sigh, but Goro keeps his eyes closed and soon enough Kurusu’s breathing evens out into sleep.

It’s a long time before Goro follows him.


	4. Akira

Akira wakes suddenly, roused out of a dream he doesn’t remember by a sudden inhale next to him. He opens his eyes to Detective Goro Akechi’s face centimeters from his own, eyes still closed but features drawn taut. As Akira watches, Akechi’s brows pull down and his lips press together; he turns his face toward the pillow and the breath that escapes him is strained and tight.

Akira’s familiar with the sensation, but he wouldn’t have thought Tokyo’s star detective would be plagued by nightmares.

He’d been impossible to ignore; photogenic and media-savvy, Akechi had dominated the news cycle for three days when he’d announced that he would be the one to bring the Phantom Thieves to justice. Akira doesn’t often have premonitions, but something had ticked uneasily in his gut as Akechi has smiled straight into the camera and promised the world at large that the Phantom Thieves’ days were numbered.

He wasn’t the first to have tried, of course. They had hit a number of high profile targets before the Tokyo Police had finally caught on that the string of corporate data leaks and high profile scandals were all connected, but it was the media who had dubbed them _the Phantom Thieves_. Akira likes the moniker, even if what they do isn’t _stealing_ information so much as _setting it free_ ; there’s an element of romance, of drama to the name that appeals, and he hadn’t objected when the others had started using it. Nevertheless, increased fame had brought increased pressure from the police, and Akira supposes it was only a matter of time before someone competent picked up the case.

And Akechi _is_ competent. The proof of that is clasped around both of their wrists.

He should have left Akechi behind. He should have looked for the key; he should have picked the lock and dumped his body in the alley behind the museum, should have done _anything_ except bring him back here. His words last night hadn’t been flattery - Akechi is far too good of a detective for Akira to have brought him to Leblanc, where the team meets regularly, where Akira _lives_. No one else has been able to get this close to them. When Makoto lectures him for endangering the rest of the team, Akira will only be able to agree with her.

He can’t tell her that Akechi is interesting precisely _because_ he’s dangerous, not if he wants to avoid being smacked upside the head.

Akechi lets out another short breath. Akira reaches out to shake him awake, but he curls his hand into a fist and pulls it back before he can make contact. The television hadn’t captured the dark circles underneath Akechi’s eyes, erased by either a skilled makeup artist or in post-production. Maybe it’s kinder to let him sleep.

There’s a pounding on the stairs behind him and Akira looks over his shoulder to see Ryuji burst into the attic, face pale and eyes wide.

“Aki- Joker,” Ryuji corrects himself, eyes are wide and breath coming fast. “You gotta see this. Both of you,” he adds as Akechi stirs, and the urgency threading through his voice has Akira kicking the covers off. Akechi makes a sleepy, interrogative noise, and Akira closes his hand around Akechi’s wrist, pulling him along after him as Ryuji disappears back down the stairs. The noise Akechi makes at _that_ is a lot closer to _angry_ , but there’s no time to soothe his feelings. Ryuji gets worked up easily, its true, but he’s also rarely _wrong_.

Akira thunders down the stairs, pulling a stumbling Akechi behind him, but when he reaches the first floor he stops so abruptly Akechi nearly runs into his back. Haru, Yusuke, Futaba - a quick scan of the cafe shows the full complement of the Phantom Thieves in various chairs and booths, watching Akira with expressions ranging from concern to outright shock. He takes a step backward, keeping Akechi behind him - the whole point of keeping Akechi away from them was to keep the team’s identities a _secret_ , what had Ryuji been _thinking_ -

Ryuji picks up the television remote and turns up the volume. “ _Look_ ,” he says urgently, waving at the set. “They’ve been running it on repeat all morning.”

“Running _what_ -” Akira starts, but his voice stalls as the pleasant voice of the news announcer ends and the picture cuts to the front of Tokyo Police Headquarters.

It’s a press conference, that much is clear, but a small and hastily thrown-together one. A contingent of forgettable bureaucrats line the steps in front of the building, and behind the podium itself - 

Akechi hisses, pulling against Akira’s hand, and Akira forces himself to loosen his grip. Akechi pulls his hand free and steps around Akira, knocking his shoulder on the way, but when his eyes lift to the television he halts in his tracks, face going blank and shocked.

“Good morning,” Masayoshi Shido says, hands resting on the sides of the podium, and Akira grits his teeth at the oily slide in his voice. “Last night the police conducted a successful operation against the Phantom Thieves at the Tokyo National Museum.”

The crows erupts in murmurs, and Akira tries to keep one eye on the television and one on Akechi. “Under my leadership,” Shido says, and in the corner of his vision Akira can just see Akechi roll his eyes. “The Thieves were prevented from reaching their target, and we can thank the police for their dedication to preserving the peace.”

“However,” Shido says, voice sharpening, and the crowd quiets. “This operation has revealed a previously undiscovered weakness in the police department.”

“The Thieves managed to escape what should have been an impenetrable net. They could not have done so without assistance. In addition, the lead detective on this case disappeared from the scene in the middle of the operation. The police have been unable to locate or contact him.”

Time seems to slow and stretch as Akira turns to face Akechi. He has a terrible premonition about what’s coming next, and he needs to see how Akechi is going to react to it.

“Therefore,” Shido says, voice tinny through the television set as Akechi’s face slowly drains of color. “It is my regretful duty to inform you that an arrest warrant has been issued for Detective Goro Akechi for collusion with a known criminal organization.”

Akechi looks like he’s going to pass out.

The crowd on the television erupts again, clamoring with shouted questions and Shido raises his hands, selecting reporters one at a time to take questions. Akira’s not listening. Any questions Shido answers will be from sympathetic reporters, asking easy, flattering questions; he’s said what’s important, and now the only question is what Akira’s going to do about it.

He looks down at his wrist, chained to Akechi’s, and the answer is obvious.

“Tell me,” he says, slipping his free hand into his pocket. “In all of your investigative work, in everything that he just threw in the garbage -” Akechi makes a faint strangled sound, but Akira presses on. “Did you ever discover our true target?”

That draws Akechi’s attention away from the television; he’s wide-eyed and he looks like he might not be breathing, but at least he’s looking at Akira.

“Masayoshi Shido is - dirty doesn’t even begin to cover it. He’s made so many people’s lives miserable, and now he’s burned you the minute you weren’t useful anymore.”

Akechi’s brows draw down. “Did you do this?” He demands, voice growing stronger with each word. “Was this why you kidnapped me? Did you tell him I was here?”

“What - _no_.” Akira shakes his head. “You think I’d talk to that bastard? I didn’t plan any of this - _you_ cuffed yourself to _me_ , remember?” It seems like a long time ago.

“You could have sent him an anonymous message.” Akechi’s nostrils flare. “I know you have a hacker on your crew, it wouldn’t be hard.”

“Not hard,” Futaba quips. “We’ve had his contact info for months.”

Akira glares. “Thank you, Oracle,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Yes, thank you,” Akechi says, glancing at her and then back at Akira. “Well?”

“Akechi.” Akira takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Let me tell you a story. About a year ago, I was arrested -”

“Assault and battery, convicted and sentenced to probation,” Akechi interrupts, sounding bored. “Is your criminal history supposed to convince me of something?”

Well. He definitely knows Akira’s identity. It’s fine. “If you know my record that well, then you know that the identity of the ‘victim’ -” he can’t stop himself from lacing the word with heavy irony “- appears nowhere in the official report. Nor does my statement.”

Akechi pauses. “That was...unusual,” he admits.

“Then let me fill in the rest for you. As I was walking home, I came across an extremely drunk Masayoshi Shido attempting to coerce a young woman into a car. His intent was clear. She didn't want to go. I notified the police and stepped between them.” It’s almost possible to tell this story with a flat, neutral inflection. “He fell to the ground, hit his head, then blamed the entire thing on me and blackmailed the woman into testifying against me.”

Akira reaches out and takes the hand cuffed to his in his own. It’s cold and clammy under his grip, but Akechi doesn’t immediately jerk away, which Akira chooses to take as a good sign. “What he did to me is the least of it,” he says. “I wouldn’t sell _anyone_ out to Shido. Not even the detective trying to put us behind bars.”

Akechi is silent, but his eyes are intent on Akira’s and Akira can practically _hear_ him thinking, combing over Akira’s words, trying to find the lie.

He won’t find one; not even in the last part. _Especially_ not in that last part.

“We’ve made some progress, but with your help - with your help we could burn his empire to the _ground._ Here,” Akira lets go of Akechi’s hand and withdraws the other one from his pocket. Even left-handed it’s only the work of a few seconds to pop the cuff around Akechi’s wrist open. “If you want to go back, if you can swallow _that_ and keep going, I won’t stop you. No one in this room will stop you,” he says over Ryuji’s grumbled protest. “We won’t be here if you return with reinforcements, but we won’t stop you.”

Akechi looks down at his hand, then back up at Akira. His frown deepens. “You had a lockpick on you the whole time.”

“Of course I did.” Akira fights the urge to take Akechi’s hand again, to get him to focus on what’s _important_ here. “I don’t know what Shido has on you, but it’s not worth this.” Akira waves at the TV, where the press conference finally ended and the anchors are trading solemn commentary. “ _He’s_ not worth it. And together we could make sure that _everybody_ knows it.”

Akechi is silent for a long moment, lifting his freed wrist and rubbing absently. He should look ridiculous, hair mussed from sleep, in yesterday’s clothes and socked feet; but Akira can’t quite look away from his face, weighing and measuring and maybe finally, _finally_ listening.

Ryuji shifts, and Akira glances at him and shakes his head minutely. This has to be Akechi’s decision. If he says no, if he breaks for the door -

Well. Akira will burn that bridge when he comes to it.

“I want to make one thing clear, Kurusu,” Akechi says slowly finally, breaking the silence, and Akira looks back. “That if - _if_ I agree to this - this _lunacy_ , it’s only because I want to see Shido broken in the public eye, to see all his ambition come crashing down around him.”

Akechi’s voice rings in the silence of the cafe, loaded with a barely-concealed venom - but not, Akira thinks as he blows out a breath, aimed at him.

“Okay. Okay,” he says, and he can feel the grin stretching across his face. “Public humiliation, social ruination, those are all on the menu.”

“If you insist on being insufferable, I’m leaving,” Akechi snaps.

“Aw, come on, man,” Ryuji chimes in. “We’re going to do it anyway. You might as well get a piece of it.”

Akechi closes his eyes, sighing deeply. “I’m going to regret this,” he mutters, and then opens his eyes, locking them with Akira’s. “Fine. _Fine_. But it had better be _extreme_ ruination.”

“Extreme ruination it is,” Akira says, grin going wider. “Detective Goro Akechi, welcome to the Phantom Thieves.”


	5. Goro

The Phantom Thieves are. Well. They are. They are not what Goro expected.

Ryuji Sakamoto, Makoto Niijima - Goro had known these names already. Sakamoto was a known associate of Kurusu’s, after all; the two shared a jogging routine, and Sakamoto visited _Leblanc_ with a regularity that belied the fact that he lived and worked in another part of Tokyo entirely. Niijima Goro had known for longer; Sae Niijima’s sister was a frequent enough visitor to the justice building that Goro had made Makoto’s acquaintance long before the Phantom Thieves case had crossed his desk. The questions she had asked about the Thieves investigation had been a little _too_ pointed, even for someone with family in law enforcement. Sae had brushed it off as a temporary indulgence; Goro had nodded thoughtfully and added Makoto’s name to the growing list on his desk.

Futaba Sakura he should have expected. Kurusu had a hacker on his crew, that much had been clear; Goro should have made the connection between the daughter of _Leblanc’s_ previous owner, one of the slipperiest hackers in Japan, and the way the Thieves ghosted through state-of-the-art security systems. Likewise, Ann Takamaki and Yusuke Kitagawa both filled roles Goro knew Kurusu _had_ to have, although he’d had neither of those names pinned down definitively.

Haru Okumura is a surprise. Goro had known the thieves were well-funded; he had just thought it was from selling the information they stole. He had assumed that _Noir_ was Hifumi Togo - Togo had the connections to the upper social circles the Thieves preyed on, and she and Kurusu certainly met often enough to warrant suspicion. Surely no one was _that_ interested in Shogi. Whatever connections Togo has, of course, Okumura has in spades - and the influence to buy any she lacks.

If the Thieves are financed by Okumura, however - if they’re not selling what they steal - what _are_ they doing with it?

Kurusu - Akira, as he insists - makes a wiggling motion with his hand when Goro asks. “Some of it’s been released, yes - I know you’re aware of the leak that took down the Kaneshiro group, for example. But we’re looking for the threads that will unravel Shido. They’re there; we just have to find them.”

“And until then you’re just - what, toppling the unworthy?”

Akira grins, leaning back in the booth opposite him. “Can you think of a better use of our time?”

And then there’s Akira Kurusu, leader of the Phantom Thieves and proprietor of _Leblanc_ , an otherwise unnotable cafe in an unfashionable part of Tokyo. On paper Kurusu is a quiet, unassuming citizen with an admittedly unusually wide circle of acquaintances and the apparent misfortune to turn up in the periphery of a startling amount of major crime; in person, watching the easy way the others defer to Akira’s leadership, seeing the way Akira’s eyes light up under Goro’s questions - Goro wonders how his predecessors could have ever overlooked him.

“I don’t know, something that _doesn’t_ break any number of laws?” Goro snips, reaching for the steaming mug of coffee he’s been supplied with. It’s really quite good.

“Where’s the fun in that,” a new voice says, and Goro looks up to see Akira steadying a cat - black, with white markings - that’s jumped up to his shoulder.

“You keep a cat in the cafe?” he says, brows raising.

“I’m _not_ a cat,” the voice says and it’s - it’s coming from the cat. The cat is talking to him. Goro glances down at his coffee.

“There’s nothing in it. Besides cream and sugar,” Akira adds, amused. He stroked a hand over the cat’s side. “Detective, this is Morgana. He’s -”

“Let me guess,” Goro says, putting his mug down carefully. “Lab 376.”

Morgana hisses, and Akira’s fingers curl in his fur.

“How do you know that name?” Akira says, very evenly.

“It shows up in Shido’s paperwork, from time to time. Pharmaceutical research. Biomedical science. Animal testing,” Goro says, gaze sliding back to Morgana. “The budget is impressive, as is the security.” 

“Morgana is just one of the reasons we’re going after him,” Akira says, stroking his fingers through Morgana’s fur. “He escaped. We don’t know how many others like him there might be.”

“I had no idea they were doing this kind of experimentation,” Goro admits, watching fascinated as Morgana hops down from Akira’s shoulder and picks his way across the table. “But I am not at all surprised that Shido would want to keep sentient creatures in cages. I _hate_ that man.”

“Then why work for him?” Akira asks neutrally, wrapping his hands around his coffee cup.

“You try working for the Tokyo Police and see how far you get without him,” Goro says bitterly. “He’s - entrenched. He’s not technically part of the department, no,” he says as Akira opens his mouth. “But he has his fingers deep in every political current. Everyone seems to owe him a favor.”

“Including you?”

Goro bares his teeth. “I’ve worked too hard to get where I am to give it up to someone who thinks he can _buy_ me,” he spits, but relents when Akira raises his hands in mock surrender. “Gaining recognition without his support is...difficult. But I won’t forgive someone who gives me up to gain political points.”

“Do you know where the lab is?” Morgana interrupts, jumping up onto Goro’s shoulder, and Goro’s not sorry at all to steer the conversation back toward safer waters.

“Not precisely,” Goro says, turning his head to follow him, and meeting those unblinking blue eyes. “But I have some ideas.”

Akira leans back, grin going sharp as he stretches one arm across the back of the booth. “Then I think we have our next target.”

* * *

It’s - not terrible, working with Akira, nor the rest of the Phantom Thieves. Ann takes it upon herself to replace the wardrobe he can’t go back for, and although her first choices are - interesting, the stack of clothes she comes back with are by and large acceptable, and fit remarkably well. It should feel strange, perhaps, to sit down with Futaba and Makoto and match up their data with his, to find the holes in the the net they’ve been trying to draw around Shido and patch them with what he knows.

He can feel Akira’s eyes on him, and he knows Akira hasn’t forgotten his earlier slip - _I_ hate _that man_ \- but Akira doesn’t ask further. It’s just as well. This whole arrangement is - temporary. What Akira doesn’t know won’t come back to bite Goro later.

They’re able to narrow the location of the lab down to three possible targets: a high-rise in the business district with an unusual amount of security, a warehouse down by the port, and a former coal plant acquired by a shell corporation that lists Masayoshi Shido as a board member. It will be impossible to narrow it down further without visiting in person.

“We’ll try the warehouse first,” Akira decides, after Makoto lays out the options. “You said the power draw was unusual?”

“Completely absurd,” Futaba confirms. “It’s way off the charts for a building that should be filled with shipping containers.”

“Man, that’s gotta be it,” Ryuji says, bracing his elbows on the table and leaning forward. “You remember anything about being down by the docks?” he says, addressing Morgana.

“I don’t know…” Morgana paces across the city map spread out across the table. He paws at the circled warehouse. “Maybe. I don’t - I don’t remember!”

“Shhh, it’s okay, Mona-chan.” Haru scoops him off the table and strokes his ears. “We’ll find it. We’ve got help now - isn’t that right?”

All eyes turn toward Goro and he thanks the years working in the police force for the practice in keeping his face neutral. “Of course,” he says smoothly. “If what you say about the contents of this lab is true, it should be more than enough to ruin Shido forever.”

“Of course it’s true,” Morgana snaps, then settles as Haru strokes down his back. “At least - I think it is.”

“Then it’s settled,” Goro says, looking at Akira. “The docks?”

“You don’t think you’re coming with us,” Makoto says, just as Yusuke starts. “Akira, is it wise -”

Akira doesn’t say anything, rubbing his thumb and middle finger together, and Goro blinks. “You can’t be serious. You can’t be thinking of going _without me_.”

Akira leans forward, folding his hands together. “We’ll have to move fast,” he says apologetically. “We can’t take the time to look after you while we’re running an infiltration.”

Goro stares. “To look after - do you think I’m _completely_ helpless?”

“I know that you’re not,” Akira says wryly. “But this is - a little different than police work.”

Goro opens his mouth again and Akira raises his hand. “You can run communications with Futaba. You’ll have eyes on everything we’re doing. It’ll be just like you were there.” His tone has the heavy ring of finality to it.

Goro folds his arms and thinks about it. If this _is_ the correct location, if they somehow get lucky and get it right the first time - this run will be mostly reconnaissance. The Thieves don’t make make a big show the night they actually hit the target - they let the information released to the media do the talking for them.

“Fine,” he says eventually. “But if this _is_ the place, we’ll coordinate the data leak from here. _And_ I get to make the announcement to the press.”

Akira smiles. “Deal. We’ll do the heavy lifting - wrangling the media will be your show.”

“It had _better_ be,” Goro grumbles, but Futaba is already pulling up blueprints of the warehouse and Goro has to let it go.

It’s - strange, to watch the Phantom Thieves put together an operation. Despite Ryuji’s tendency to lean his chair back until he looks in danger of tipping right over, and Yusuke’s habit of doodling on the maps, they’re more organized than Goro had given them credit for. Makoto directs the conversation with a firm hand, and it’s not even an hour before they have three possible entrances and four exit routes planned and noted. Goro’s a bit surprised at how little Akira speaks during the actual planning process; Akira watches and listens carefully, but he lets each member of the team - including Goro, much to his surprise - have a say before reaching a decision. They wouldn’t have followed him this far if he wasn’t a good leader, Goro supposes, but it’s still - something, to see it up close.

It’s still odd to help plan an operation that’s explicitly designed to break _through_ a security system rather than strengthen it. Goro finds that it’s easier than he’d thought to shake off any lingering qualms about aiding the Thieves; it’s really little different from planning an operation to keep the Thieves _out_ , just in reverse.

He even feels the same rush of adrenaline as the Thieves get suited up and start piling equipment and themselves into a van parked out behind the cafe. He watches as Futaba and Akira check to make sure the communications equipment is working, then pulls Akira aside as he goes to join the others in the alley.

“Be careful,” Goro says, and Akira raises an eyebrow. “I have a lot riding on you.”

One corner of Akira’s mouth quirks up beneath the mask. “I’m always careful.”

“That is _absolutely_ not true,” Goro says, and Akira laughs, saluting Goro as he moves to join the others.

After that there’s nothing to do but wait, pacing the length of the cafe as the Thieves make their way across town, until Futaba snaps at him to sit down because he’s making her nervous.

He sighs and slides into the booth next to her. “How close are they?”

Futaba turns her laptop so he can see the screen, and the little green blip that is the GPS tracker attached to the van. “Almost there. They should be - yep, that’s Yusuke and Ann,” she says as the van slows to a stop a few blocks away from the first entry point, then picks up speed again. Goro watches as the van comes to a halt a block away from the warehouse, and then Futaba hits a few keys and the screen splits to show the feeds from the team’s bodycams. The comm channel crackles as the team checks in, and Goro focuses on Akira’s feed as he avoids the new-looking security door and scales the side of the building.

The roof of the warehouse is covered in cooling towers, and Akira winds his way between them. “They’re definitely not storing textiles here,” he murmurs over the hum of the towers, and crouches before an access shaft. Goro leans forward as Akira’s gloved hands come into view, cracking open the hatch -

“Relax,” Futaba says, and Goro releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “He knows what he’s doing.”

“I never doubted it,” Goro murmured as Akira secures a rope and drops into the waiting blackness.

Futaba hits another key and the camera switches to night-vision, revealing row after row of tall glowing rectangles growing closer as Akira descends from the ceiling. Akira’s boots _thump_ on the top of the closest one, and his camera tilts as he crouches on the edge and peers over.

Goro leans back, feeling a surprising flood of disappointment as Akira’s camera reveals row after row of blinking lights and complicated cabling. “Server farm,” Akira says, just as Futaba _ooohs_ in excitement.“That explains the power draw.”

“So, uh -” Ryuji’s voice crackles over the comm. “Are we going through with this or not?”

“Yes!” Futaba says, just as Akira stands and says “No.”

“Oh come on!” Futaba says as Akira reattaches the rope to his harness. “Just think of what could be stored here!”

“It’s a good location to know,” Akira says. “But there’s more data here than we could get through in a year, and it’s not what we’re looking for. Tell you what -” he says as he starts ascending toward the ceiling. “You and Skull can do the repair-technician routine and get a physical tap in here, and then you can start sifting through it at your leisure.”

“Yes!” Futaba fist-pumps the air, and Goro smiles despite himself.

“You like data that much?” he says.

“I _live_ for data,” Futaba says, not looking at him. She taps a few more keys on her keyboard, cycling through the rest of the team’s feeds as they start to pull back. “Uh - oh crap, _Joker_ -”

“I see it,” Akira responds grimly as he pulls himself up onto the roof again. “Noir, Queen, you need to move, _now._ ” Goro sees it a split-second later: an unmarked cruiser making its way down the street Makoto and Haru are parked on.

“How secure is this channel?” Goro says, putting a hand to the mike clipped to his collar. He hasn’t turned it on yet; the fewer fingerprints he leaves across this mess, digital or otherwise, the better, but if Haru and Makoto follow Akira’s direction they _will_ get caught and he absolutely can’t afford that.

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Futaba snaps, fingers flying across the keyboard, which isn’t any kind of answer but he’s out of time.

He _clicks_ the mike on.

“Queen, Noir, stay where you are,” he says over the sudden flurry of protests over the comm line. “Moving at this point point will make you memorable; stay put and you’re just another van in the warehouse district.”

“But they’ll have _seen_ the van,” Ann says, voice tight with worry. “Even if they don’t stop they’ll be able to identify it later.”

Goro keeps his eyes fixed on Makoto’s feed, at her hand on the key in the ignition. She hasn’t turned it yet, but she still might, and if she does this operation is blown.

“They won’t,” he says. “They’re on a late shift, they’re tired, they’re not interested in anything except going home. But if you turn that key they _will_ start paying attention.”

“The cruiser is still three blocks away,” Yusuke argues. “They won’t get caught if they leave now.”

“Joker?” Makoto’s voice is tense, her fingers tight on the key.

The seconds before Akira answers seem to stretch into an eternity, and Goro finds himself holding his breath. This is a hell of a way to find out how far the fragile trust between them can stretch before it snaps; if Goro were in Akira’s position, he’s not sure he’d be able to make the right call, but he finds himself _willing_ Akira to take his advice, to _listen_.

“Stay put,” Akira says finally, and Goro blows out a breath. “Get down, out of sight, but be ready to move on my signal.”

Makoto’s knuckles go white, then she releases the key and she and Haru are sliding down, out of sight of the windows. The whole crew goes quiet as the police vehicle approaches; two blocks away, then one…

The car’s headlights slide over the plates of the Thieves’ van, and someone - Ryuji, Goro thinks, but he can’t be sure - lets out a hiss that crackles over the communication line. The cruiser doesn’t pause, rolling gently up alongside the van’s door -

And then it’s past, carrying on down the street without pause. The cruiser turns the corner and the comm line fills with sighs of relief.

“Everyone back to the rendezvous point,” Akira says, beginning his descent down the side of the building. “We’re done here.”


	6. Akira

Akira lets the others pile out of the van and into _Leblanc_ ahead of him, taking his time making sure the van is locked and their gear is out of sight. Morgana leaps from the seats to his shoulders as he closes the rear doors, and Akira shifts his balance automatically to adjust for the weight.

“You took his advice pretty readily,” Morgana says neutrally.

Akira knows that Morgana can feel the way his shoulders tense, but he tries to keep his voice light as he locks the doors. “He was right. Unmarked and unnoticed is what we’re going for, especially at a location we’re not actually interested in.”

“Mmm. He’s already led us into a trap once. I just want to be sure he doesn’t do it again.” Morgana jumps down and pads off toward _Leblanc_. 

“He’s with us, now,” Akira protests as he follows, keeping his voice down as he glances at the café. He can already hear Ryuji’s voice raised in excitement, muffled but enthusiastic.

“For now.” Morgana glances back over his shoulder. “But he said it himself. He’s after recognition, and we’ve made ourselves a big target.”

Akira doesn’t have an answer for that, but he doesn’t want to have this conversation in front of the others so he shrugs and pushes the cafe door open. Morgana gives him a _look_ that says this conversation is just postponed, then trots into the warmth and the light.

“...thought for _sure_ we were busted, but you totally called it, man.” Ryuji has slid himself into a seat opposite Goro, who’s watching him with a bemused expression. “I’m glad you’re on our side, now.”

Goro’s smile goes the tiniest bit stiff. “Indeed.” He catches sight of Akira and his shoulders relax minutely, the tension there suddenly noticeable by its release.

“One down,” Akira says. Goro nods as the conversation quiets around them.

“Two possibilities left,” he replies, leaning forward. “Any guesses as to which is more likely to hold our target?”

Akira tries not to let _our_ warm him too much; this arrangement is, as Morgana has reminded him, temporary. “Your guess is as good as mine. Better, possibly. But we should leave that for another day.” He raises his hand as Goro opens his mouth, presumably in protest. “We’re all tired. We’ll do better work after some rest.”

Goro eyes him flatly, then leans back, nodding stiffly. Akira sympathizes. This whole situation is precarious, and the longer it goes on the more likely it is to blow up in all of their faces. But he won’t be doing anyone any favors by working them into exhaustion.

“Take a day. We’ll reconvene in two,” he says to the group at large, and Goro’s eyes widen.

“ _Two days_?” he says incredulously. “Are you -”

“This isn’t our day job, detective,” Akira says, a little more sharply than he intends. “We all have other business to attend to.”

“Covers to maintain, you mean.” Akira raises his eyebrows and Goro has the good grace to look a little shamefaced. Goro drags a hand over his face. “All right. I suppose there’s always research to be done.”

“Always,” Akira agrees.

The others say their goodnights in ones and twos, drifting away until Akira is left with Goro and Morgana, who stretches and disappears up the stairs. Akira can feel the exhaustion pulling at his own limbs, the adrenaline fading and replaced by a bone-weary fatigue.

“I think he’s got the right idea,” Akira says, covering a yawn with his hand. “You ready?”

Goro twists a pen between his fingers. “In a minute. I want to - thank you,” he says stiffly. “For listening.”

Akira blinks. “You were right. We got away clean because of you. It could have gone very differently.”

“Nevertheless,” Goro says. “I’m not one of your crew. We have a mutual goal, yes,” he says when Akira opens his mouth. “But I’m not one of the team.”

Akira bites down on his first impulse, which is to say, _aren’t you?_ First Morgana, then Goro himself; everyone seems to be rushing to remind Akira that this is a temporary arrangement.

Maybe he needs the reminder. Maybe it’s been a little - surprising, how easy it was to integrate Goro into the Phantom Thieves’ operations. He’s smart, Akira had already known that; and yeah, he’s got a temper but he keeps it on a leash, most of the time. Akira had enjoyed poking at Detective Akechi from afar. He’s fascinated by Goro up close.

“You didn’t have to speak up,” Akira says slowly, as if he’s feeling his way forward in the dark. “You could have let us walk into that mistake; no one would have thought anything of it. _I_ wouldn’t have. But you did; you warned us and I listened because I listen to my team.”

Goro’s face is doing something complicated; his face is a neutral mask, but there are emotions sliding behind his eyes that Akira can only guess at.

“I think,” Goro says eventually, and then he coughs, looking away. “I think that it’s late, and you have a cafe to open tomorrow.”

“Don’t you mean a cover to maintain?” Akira grins at the face Goro makes and stands. “Come on. If we’re not up there soon Morgana will yell at us.”

“He does seem to have an interest in your sleep schedule,” Goro agrees as he follows Akira up the stairs.

“Can’t be at your best if you’re not rested,” Morgana says sleepily from the little bed Akira had made him on the table at the foot of the sofa. “And I need you all at your best.”

Akira glances at Goro, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed the _you all_ ; he’s moving toward Akira’s bed, already pulling his shirt up. Akira takes a moment to appreciate the view, but makes sure he’s looking away by the time Goro gets the shirt over his head.

They’ve fallen into an - not an _easy_ routine, but an acceptable one. One night, Goro takes the bed, and Akira the couch; the next night they swap, and together they can almost pretend that there’s nothing strange about it, that Goro is a guest on an extended stay. Akira can lie in the dark listening to Goro’s breathing and pretend that he doesn’t know what it’s like to wake up to Goro’s face mere centimeters away from his.

Goro pulls the covers up over his shoulders and rolls away from him. Akira hits the lights and settles himself on the sofa. It’s not the most comfortable thing he’s ever slept on but it’ll do, at least until this is over. At least Goro doesn’t snore.

“Good night,” Akira says. A grunt from the bed is the only response.

Close enough. Akira shuts his eyes, rolls on his side, and lets the sound of Goro’s breathing lull him to sleep

* * *

“You need a code name,” Futaba says over breakfast the next morning.

Goro pauses with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “Pardon?”

“A _code name_ ,” she says deliberately, as if he’s being stupid. “My channels are secure but if you’re going to be on these missions with us you need a code name like everyone else.”

Akira raises his mug, covering his mouth as Goro chews thoughtfully. He has some ideas, but he wants to see what Goro will come up with.

Goro swallows. “What about Prince?”

Futaba snorts. “ _Way_ too obvious. Besides, we already have one member of the royalty on board. You gonna fight Makoto for her spot?”

“I’d like to think I know better than that,” Goro says dryly, fishing out his next bite. “What do you suggest?”

Futaba grins and opens her mouth, but Akira cuts in before she can get there.

“How about Crow?”

Goro gives him a flat look. “The carrion bird?”

“The keeper of law,” Akira counters, and shrugs at the look Futaba slants him. So he’s been doing some reading - so what? “Known for their intelligence. And holding grudges,” he adds with a wink.

Goro still looks like he suspects a trap of some sort but he takes a bite, clearly thinking it over.

“I have ideas if you don’t like Crow,” Futaba puts in. Goro smiles, and Akira takes another sip of coffee to cover the sudden flip his stomach does.

“I appreciate the effort,” he says, setting his chopsticks down. “But I think Crow will be fine.”

He glances over at Akira. “That is, assuming I’m _allowed_ on the next mission.”

Akira sets his coffee down. “I’ve learned from my mistake. When we identify our way in to the next target, you’ll be on the infiltration team.”

Goro lifts his own coffee with an air of satisfaction. “Then I have no complaints.”

Akira has a few. Chief among them the way Goro looks at him, challenging and playful all at once, like they’re colleagues, like this is permanent, like this is _real_. Akira can picture it all too clearly: Goro covering his back at Akira takes care of a particularly vexing lock; Goro’s head bent together with Futaba and Makoto as they comb over data; Goro relaxing between Yusuke and Ann after an infiltration. Ryuji and Haru keep trying to feed him, which is a surefire indication of affection on their part.

He _fits_ with them. If he’s planning on selling the Phantom Thieves out he’s doing a damn good job of hiding it.

“Something wrong?” Goro says, putting his mug down, and Akira schools his expression.

“No. The cafe opens in half an hour,” he deflects. “I’ll start the washing up - Futaba, you’ve got a spare laptop, right?”

“I have seven spare laptops. What?” She says defensively at the look Goro slants her. “You never know when a burner is going to come in handy - and look, it _did_.” She sticks her tongue out at him.

As Akira does the washing up and preps the cafe, Goro settles in at the far end of _LeBlanc’s_ counter on one of Futaba’s machines. “It’s been locked out of the police network so don’t try anything; leave that to me,” she’d told him, and he’d rolled his eyes but accepted it with otherwise good grace.

It’s - nice, to have him there. Business is on the slow side, especially on a weekday, but Akira has his regulars and he likes to keep the space open for them. It’s also a good way to keep up with the gossip in the city; free refills encourage his customers to linger, and a friendly smile and an attentive ear go a long way toward drawing out the word on the street.

He can feel Goro’s eyes on him as he chats with customers, and during a lull when the shop is empty Akira readies a fresh pour-over and sets in on the counter in front of him.

“Anything promising?” He says, leaning forward as Goro looks up.

“Mm.” Goro blinks, sitting up straight and stretching his arms over his head. The movement pulls the fabric of his shirt tight over his chest and Akira tells himself that he doesn’t feel red on his cheeks.

Goro seems not to notice. “I think this is our best bet,” he says, turning the screen so Akira can see the Yokimura high rise. “Good location, tight security. 34th and 35th floor totally dedicated to a corporation that doesn’t seem to exist, except on paper.” Goro picks up his cup and takes a sip, making a pleased noise, and Akira smiles.

“All right. I’ll let the others know, and we’ll start planning...Crow.”

Goro’s eyes flick up to his, wide and startled, and then they crease as he smiles, pleased.

“I don’t imagine I’ll get to hear that name from you often,” he says, setting his cup down. “So I’ll enjoy it while I can.”

Right. Because this is temporary.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Akira says lightly, ignoring the thrill in his chest at _enjoy it_. The door jingles and he steps away, ignoring the feeling of Goro’s eyes on him as he moves down the counter to greet the new customers.

The Thieves have always had a limited lifespan - their goal is to bring down Shido, and they’re so close to achieving that. It’s ridiculous of him to want to drag this out a little longer, just for the way Goro’s eyes crinkle when he smiles.

He’ll just - as Goro says - have to enjoy it while he can.


	7. Goro

The Yokimura high rise stretches up into the sky, tall and imposing, but not as tall as the building Goro finds himself on, one street over. The wind whips around him as he makes his way toward the edge, past where Ryuji and Yusuke are affixing a device to a cooling tower. Akira stands right up on the edge of the building, seemingly unaffected by the buffeting winds, staring down. It’s a bit difficult to estimate from here which floors are their target, but Goro would lay good money on the two floors that are completely blacked out.

“You’ve done this before, yes?” Goro says, speaking up a little to be heard over the wind.

Akira turns and flashes him a grin, white and bright underneath his mask. “Never.”

Goro should have asked earlier.

Akira’s grin widens. “Afraid of heights, Crow?”

A little. “Not in the least. I have full confidence in the work of your team.”

Akira turns and claps his shoulder as he passes. “That’s what I like to hear.” It’s probably entirely Goro’s imagination that Akira’s fingers linger a little longer than strictly necessary, but at this point he’ll take what comfort he can get, even from an unorthodox source.

The line fires across the gap between buildings, and Goro can’t hear the _thunk_ when it hits the other side but Yusuke claims that it’s solidly anchored. Ryuji’s the first across, and Goro finds himself holding his breath as he hooks himself onto the zipline. Ryuji kicks off the building which a whoop, figure quickly blurring against the lights of the city as he accelerates away, and Goro doesn’t exhale until Ryuji’s radioed back that he made it across safely.

Ann’s next, and then Akira, then Haru, and then it’s Goro’s turn and he’s just going to. Breathe for a minute.

“Crow?” Comes Akira’s voice over the comm line, concerned even through the static, and Goro remembers the timbre of Akira’s voice in _Leblanc_ , that morning Goro’s world had turned upside down. Akira had sounded similarly concerned, then, although Goro hadn’t known to listen for it at the time.

He grasps the handles of the zipline and lets Makoto buckle him in and then there’s nothing left but to take that step off the edge -

And then there’s _nothing_ beneath his feet and the wind has stolen his breath and he’s flying, flying through the air toward nothing but the promise of Akira’s voice.

His feet hit the roof on the other side and then he’s stumbling, trying to stay upright and there are a pair of strong arms around him, slowing him. He regains his footing just as Akira steps back; under normal circumstances Goro would be concerned for his dignity but that’s been left behind somewhere on the other side of the street along with his lungs. Akira unhooks him quickly and efficiently and Goro draws in a shaky breath.

“See?” Ryuji claps him on the shoulder. “Nothin’ to it.” Goro huffs out a laugh and is surprised to find that he’s grinning, the smile stretching wide across his face without his knowledge or permission.

It’s too much work to make himself stop, though, so he steps aside and makes room. Makoto is next, Yusuke last, and then Futaba’s voice is crackling in their earpieces, confirming that they remain undetected. Akira makes short work of the flimsy lock at the top of the emergency stairs, and then they’re heading down toward the blacked-out floors below. The lock on the 35th floor is more substantial, which Goro chooses to take as a good sign. It still doesn’t stand a chance against Akira, gloved fingers moving deft and sure as he rewires the panel. The keypad beeps twice, the lock disengaging, and Goro takes a deep deliberate breath as Akira cracks the door and peers in.

Desk after desk comes into view as Akira pulls the door open, an open-floor-plan office space stretching out in front of them. The Thieves slip through the door one by one, fanning out in a practiced search pattern, stopping to rifle through stacks of papers, checking to see if computers have been left on. It’s clearly no lab, and Goro feels a stab of disappointment deep in his gut.

“I thought this place had a high security budget,” Makoto says over the line from where she’s examining an office door. It’s not even keycoded, swinging open easily under her touch.

“Must be the next floor down,” Goro murmurs, drifting back toward the stairwell. He has little interest at the moment in whatever money laundering or tax fraud scheme is operating on this floor, although he makes sure to swipe a few pages from a company-branded notepad. If - _when_ he makes it out of this mess, the _United Future Corporation_ will be something to follow up on.

The lock on floor 34 is significantly more difficult for Akira, raising Goro’s hopes. Akira swears under his breath, pausing and glaring at the exposed wiring before him; he slants a glance at Goro and then stands, pocketing his tools.

“You didn’t see me do this,” he says, apparently to Goro, before lifting one booted foot and slamming it into the keypad.

There’s a faint electronic screech, and the whole keypad goes dark.

“Subtle,” Goro says, eyebrows raised.

“Subtle wasn’t getting us through the door,” Akira says as the lock disengages. “And with any luck, we’ll only need to hit this place once.”

And for a second as the door swings open on row after row of dimly lit lab stations, for one wild second Goro thinks that luck is _finally_ on his side.

But there are no cages in this lab, no animals like Morgana, no animals at _all_ , just row after row of workstations and stacks of boxes marked _UFC_ and a large service elevator door at the other end of the room. Goro meets Akira’s eyes and sees the same conclusion reflected in them.

This isn’t the right lab.

Goro breathes through the rushing in his ears even as the Thieves fan out into the lab, the door swinging shut behind them and blocking out the light from the stairwell. It’s not - it’s fine, he reminds himself, breathing deeply. They have a third location to investigate, and process of elimination means that they must be getting close. Goro watches Akira prowl around the two-meter high towers of boxes stacked up against the wall and tells himself that this thing curling in his stomach is almost certainly disappointment; and if it’s anything like relief, it’s only because they’ll have at least one more shot at Shido.

He drifts toward Akira, picking up a shipping manifesto and scanning it idly, squinting to make it out in the dim light. Shipment after shipment of product names that can only be pharmaceuticals, in quantities that can only be coming straight from the manufacturer - his eyes skim the shipping information and get caught by the address of origin.

A red-gloved hand shoots out and catches his collar, dragging him into the shadows between the towers of boxes and shoving him bodily against the wall. Goro opens his mouth to protest and Akira slaps a hand over it. Goro considers biting it, but then he hears what Akira had apparently clocked a precious few seconds earlier: the sound of footsteps, slow and heavy and on patrol.

Goro tries to breathe silently through his nose as he watches a round circle of light bob into view over Akira’s shoulder. The other Thieves are nowhere in sight, presumably having hidden faster and savvier than he had. The guard clearly isn’t expecting any trouble, flashlight moving in a slow, lazy sweep across the floor as he ambles his way through his patrol. Goro shoots a glance at Akira; his face is calm, composed, but this close Goro can see the tension in the line of his jaw as the footsteps draw nearer. Akira’s eyes are off to the side, listening to the guard approach without turning his face, pressed so close against him that Goro imagines he can feel the pounding of Akira’s heart in his chest.

Or maybe that’s his. Goro holds himself as still as he can, breathing in the soft leather scent of Akira’s gloves as the guard’s footsteps approach. Five meters away, then three, then one - 

The guard strolls in front of them, the glow from his flashlight backlighting Akira’s hair, and Goro can feel Akira tense against him.

Then the guard is past, and Akira’s chest heaves against his but he doesn’t make a sound; and he doesn’t release Goro, either, not until the guard is well gone, the _clang_ of a heavy fire door swinging shut behind him echoing through the lab.

Akira sags against him for a fraction of a second; then he leans back, taking the hand away from Goro’s mouth. Their legs tangle together for a moment and then Akira pushes himself back, putting two big steps between them.

“Sorry,” he says, flashing a grin, but he doesn’t look too very sorry. “Couldn’t take the chance.”

_The chance of what,_ Goro wants to ask, but he suddenly doesn’t want to know if the answer is just _that you’d give us away_ or if it’s _that you’d call for help._ He can forgive Akira for thinking the first; he hasn’t exactly made a great showing of himself on this infiltration. The second…

The second hadn’t even crossed his mind.

He - they’re partners in this, right? That’s what Akira had offered, what Goro had _believed_ in, against all of his better judgement.

Goro’s stomach flips unhappily. This - this _thing_ between Akira and himself is a bridge built out of toothpicks and trust, and up until five minutes ago, he would have said that the trust went both ways.

He’s surprised at how deeply it cuts, the thought that it might not.

“I think we’re done here,” Akira says, looking around as the other Thieves emerge. “We didn’t find what we came for, but -”

“Actually.” Goro swallows past the sudden tightness in his throat, years of practice facing briefing rooms and press conferences keeping his face neutral as six sets of eyes fall on him. He keeps his own on the most important pair, telling himself it’s only the dim light that make Akira’s eyes look guarded and shadowed.

Goro holds up the shipping manifesto. “I think that’s not quite true.”

* * *

“Yup, same address,” Futaba confirms, fingers flying over her keyboard as she calls up windows and scrolls through the contents faster than Goro feels like human eyes should be able to track. “Looks like...same shell corporation too, god, he sure didn’t hide his tracks very well.”

“So they’re what - shipping pills from a coal plant to the middle of downtown?” Ryuji tilts his chair dangerously far back, balancing on two legs. “That don’t make sense.”

“What we saw is likely a quality assurance lab,” Haru says, hands stroking over Morgana’s back as he settles in her lap. “And it’s likely no longer a coal plant; no doubt it’s been retrofitted into a manufacturing center.”

“Then I’d say we definitely know what our next move is,” Ann says. She nudges Goro’s elbow. “Good thing you picked up those invoices, yeah?”

Goro blinks, tearing his eyes away from Akira’s face where it’s bent close to Futaba’s. “Mm?”

“I _said_ , good thing you picked up on the address,” Ann says deliberately. “Are you with us or what? You were quiet the whole way back.”

Goro takes a deep breath as Akira lifts his head and locks eyes with him. He forces himself to look away, to look around at the gathered team. He smiles.

“I’m just tired,” he says, and if it’s not all of the truth it’s not really a lie either. “I have a new appreciation for the work that you do after all of this.”

Akira’s still looking at him, and Goro makes himself meet his eyes evenly as the rest of the group continues the debrief. Makoto is of the opinion that they should wait, let things settle again before they make another move. Ryuji disagrees, of course, and surprisingly so does Yusuke.

“The broken keypad will be discovered sooner rather than later,” he says, conspicuously not looking at Akira. “It would be well if we made our move before then.”

Akira looks unrepentant; he also looks like he’s thinking. “Yusuke’s right. And Ryuji,” he says at Ryuji’s indignant noise. “We want the element of surprise while we have it.”

He looks around the table. “I know we’re all tired,” he says with a glance at Goro. “But I want to move on this tomorrow. So get some sleep, make the arrangements you need to, and we’ll meet back here in the afternoon. Agreed?”

A murmur of consent goes around the table, and Goro pushes his chair back. He needs - he’s not one of these people. Hadn’t he told Akira that himself? He’s just -

“I’ll say my goodnights, then,” he says into the sudden silence. “And I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

He can hear the murmur of conversation start up again as he climbs the stairs but he forces himself not to listen to it. It’s his turn again for Akira’s bed, at least; he changes clothes quickly and crawls into it, pulling the covers up over his shoulders and closing his eyes and pretending the bedclothes don’t carry the scent of Akira’s shampoo.

He’d let himself forget what this is. That’s all. He’s in this for the case that will make his career, that will solidify his reputation with the Tokyo Police, that will bring Masayoshi Shido to the _fucking_ ground. He’s not in this to be part of the group, to be _friends_. Not to feel the warmth of Akira’s regard. To feel Akira’s weight pressed against him in the dark.

It’s funny - he hasn’t thought of Shido in days, not really. It used to be an all-consuming thing, an ever-present weight in the back of his mind; the thing he dreamt about, what he saw when he closed his eyes.

Now all he sees in the darkness is the flash of a smile underneath gray eyes that sparkle with amusement. He used to think that Akira was laughing _at_ him - and he probably had been, Goro reminds himself. But he knows now what it’s like to have Akira laugh _with_ him, and that’s something he can’t _un_ know.

Even if it would make this easier.


	8. Akira

In the end, getting into the lab isn’t difficult at all.

Goro had already been asleep - or pretending - when Akira had come up the stairs last night. At the very least, he hadn’t responded when Akira had said his name softly, and Akira hadn’t pressed the issue. Maybe he should have; maybe he should have shaken Goro out of his real or affected slumber and forced him to cough up whatever was bothering him. Maybe he should have said something during the planning, while Makoto laid out floor plans and Akira brewed coffee after coffee and Goro sat with arms folded, silent and brooding and not hiding it very well.

It hadn’t been like him, to be so quiet; but since when, Akira reminds himself, does he really know what Goro’s _like?_ When did he come to _expect_ an impatient pushback against delay, a biting comment, or - so rarely Akira can count each occasion on his fingers - a sudden surprised laugh, like it’s been startled out of him? Since when does Goro’s opinion or attitude _matter_?

And it does matter, Akira finds. It matters very much.

But there hadn’t been time, earlier, to press him on it; or at least, Akira had been wary of straining the fragile peace between them, and so he had let it go. There’s no time now, packed in the van and en route to the lab; and anyway what would he say?

_There’s a place for you here. If you want it._

_I wish you could stay._

_I wish you could stay with me._

But the words stick in his throat, and he swallows them back down as the van comes to a stop in the rear of the coal-plant-turned lab. The streetlights waver, then cut out as the Thieves disembark; after a second there’s a large sound like an engine turning over and lights inside the building flicker back on, even as the street remains dark.

“Emergency generator,” Futaba says over the comm line. “Nothing I can do about that, but at half power they’ll be running on minimal security. The windows should be clear.”

A second-story window above a convenient dumpster proves vulnerable to Ryuji’s crowbar, and Akira slips in after him onto a walkway that rings the interior of the former coal-plant. The building’s former life is evident only in the old ironwork that _clangs_ softly under Akira’s boots; the interior has been gutted and replaced with industrial tile and shiny steel.

And cages. Row after row of cages filled with the rustle of movement and eyes that shine even in the dim light.

“Holy effin’ hell,” Ryuji says softly as Akira comes abreast with him.

“It’s one thing to know a place like this exists,” Goro murmurs, coming up on his other side. “It’s quite another to see it for oneself.”

Morgana jumps up on Akira’s shoulder and Akira lifts a hand to steady him. Morgana had refused to stay in the van, tonight, and Akira hadn’t been able to bring himself to object.

“So this is where I came from,” Morgana say quietly, claws digging into Akira’s jacket. “Do you think - do you think there’ll be more like me here?”

“I don’t know,” Akira says honestly. “Let’s find out.”

The lab is eerily quiet as they descend the stairs. There’s the occasional rustle as some of the cage occupants shift, watching the Thieves with wary eyes, and the odd snuffle or huff, but none of the squeaks or squeals Akira would expect from a building full of animals. It’s as if the caged occupants have learned that silence is the better option.

“Hello?” Ryuji calls into the quiet. “Are you guys listening?”

“We’re here to help,” Haru adds. “So please, answer us if you can.”

Silence. The animals watch them with careful eyes, but no answer is forthcoming.

Morgana makes a small noise of heartbreak, hunkered low to the floor, and Akira crouches to run a hand over his back. Morgana presses into it, shuddering under his touch.

“You’ll always have a place with us, Mona,” Ann says, leaning down to rub his ears.

“She’s right,” Akira says, although he can’t help but looking at Goro when he says, “you’re one of us now.”

“Yeah man, you’re stuck with us,” Ryuji chimes in, and Morgana shakes himself.

“Thank you,” he says softly, then looks up. “But we haven’t gotten what we came for. Even if I don’t have answers, we can still shut this place down.”

There’s a general murmur of agreement, and the Thieves split up, spreading out to document as much of the lab as they can. Akira heads for what looks like a central computer console, pulling out the flash drive Futaba had prepared. The monitor flickers to life as soon as he plugs in it, the login screen bypassed in favor of a root directory, and then file names start scrolling past faster than Akira can read.

“Downloading their database.” Even Futaba sounds subdued. “Are we thinking a straight-up drain and dump?”

“Probably,” Akira says, although there’s something still itching at him. “Are you - are you sure there isn’t _anything_ about Mona in there?”

“Gimme a sec,” she says, changing directories while the download continues in the background. After a moment, a new file pops up on the screen: _Subject M._

The file opens, and Morgana’s face stares back at them.

Morgana jumps up on the chair, then puts his paws on the table, peering closely at the screen. He’s younger in the picture, almost a kitten, but it’s clearly him.

“The experiment ran for three months,” Futaba says quietly as the details scroll before them. “Fifteen test subjects. Only one success.”

“Subject M,” Goro says as Morgana meows quietly. “I am sorry,” he says, looking down, and he sounds sincere.

“It’s still more than enough to nail Shido to the wall with, right?” Akira says. “That kind of experimentation can’t be legal.”

“It most assuredly is not,” Goro says dryly. “If I may make a suggestion, though -” he raises a hand to his earpiece. “Oracle, can you corrupt the pictures of the test subjects? Eliminating the data altogether will leave a conspicuous absence,” he explains, glancing at Akira. “One that might inspire others to go looking. If the data looks like it’s degraded naturally, however…”

“On it,” Futaba says, and the picture in front of them starts to fade. “Hashing the source. They’ll never be able to reconstruct it.”

“Thank you,” Akira says quietly as the file closes. “Oracle, how quickly can you have this compressed and ready for distribution?”

“Download shouldn’t take too much longer; give me maybe five, ten minutes. After that - do you want to see this on the morning news, or evening?” Futaba asks.

Akira glances at Goro. “That part is your show.”

Goro puts a hand on his chin. “Oracle, can you access our target’s schedule? When is his next public appearance?”

“Ummm - oh, you’re going to love this,” Futaba cackles. “Day after tomorrow, and get this - it’s a press conference at Tokyo Police Headquarters.”

“Fitting,” Goro murmurs. “And useful, for our purposes. Can we afford to wait a day?” Goro asks, turning toward Akira.

Akira steps on the urge to say _we can wait as long as you want_. As much as he wants to put this to rest, to put Shido behind bars where he belongs, bringing this venture to a close means saying goodbye to the Phantom Thieves - and while he has no doubt that the bonds between himself and Ryuji and Makoto and all the rest will last long past when they hang up their masks, Akira doesn’t know if he can say the same for their newest member. And Goro _is_ one of them, or he could be; the proof is in the way he hesitantly pets Morgana’s head, in the way he defers to Futaba’s expertise, in the way that Akira desperately doesn’t want to let him go.

“I think we can manage,” he says instead. “You have something in mind?”

Goro’s smile is sharp as the knife Akira carries strapped to his thigh. “Something, yes; something suitably showy, and worth the wait.”

* * *

The waiting, as it turns out, is the hardest part.

Akira’s spent so long working toward this, it hardly seems real that tomorrow they’re going to expose Masayoshi Shido to the world. Goro and Futaba spend the day packaging the data and arranging the leak, targeting the phones of the reporters who will be at the press conference. Akira serves coffee and cleans up the counter and pretends he’s not watching them; Goro looks up and smiles and Akira feels his heart clench.

The world is finally being made a little more right. It shouldn’t feel like it’s ending.

The Phantom Thieves drift in and out over the course of the day, in ones and twos. Ryuji bounces on the balls of his feet, hands in his pockets as he confirms their running date for next week.

“You run? You must do something, with a build like that,” he asks, turning to Goro.

Goro blinks, looking surprised to be included. “Ah - rock climbing. Less often than I’d like, of course.”

Ryuji whistles appreciatively. “Hardcore. Well, anytime you feel like keeping your feet on the ground, you know where to find some friendly competition.”

Something strange crosses Goro’s face. “I - suppose I do. Thank you.” Akira wipes down the already spotless counter and pretends he didn’t see anything.

Yusuke and Ann come by together, Yusuke bemusedly holding all of Ann’s shopping bags. Ann selects one and deposits one at Goro’s feet.

“To remember us by,” she says, and that’s when Akira realizes what they’re doing - saying goodbye, each in their own way.

“I - thank you,” Goro says uncertainly as he unfolds a garish red and gold sweatshirt. It’s nothing like Akira’s ever seen Tokyo’s star detective wear, but as Goro carefully smoothes his hands over it he wonders if it’s not something _Goro_ would like. Ann’s good about things like that; Akira gives her a nod as she shoots him a sympathetic smile on the way out.

Makoto and Haru are the last, Haru wandering over to inquire after Futaba’s and Goro’s progress while Makoto settles in front of Akira at the bar. Akira lets Haru’s patient lilt and Futaba’s excited chatter wash over him as he starts Makoto’s pour-over.

“Do you think we can count on him?” Makoto says, low and barely audible over the burble of steaming water meeting coffee grounds.

Akira glances over her shoulder at Goro, watching politely as Haru sketches out something with her hands. He thinks about the completion of a long-awaited goal; about the way that Goro had _only_ agreed to this - to _him_ \- to bring down Shido. About how Goro now knows everything about the Phantom Thieves.

“I think we need him to make this last part stick,” he says quietly, pushing her drink across the counter. “But keep the extraction plan ready. I’ll call you if it goes bad.”

“You’re not - Akira, you’re not _going_ ,” she hisses. “That’s _not_ part of the plan.”

Akira shrugs and flashes her a grin, the kind that has never worked on her. “It is now.”

“ _Akira_ ,” but she can’t argue further because Haru calls her over with an “isn’t that right, Mako-chan?” Makoto leaves the counter with a warning glare that Akira absolutely intends to ignore. She’s right; it would be far safer to watch the press conference from a distance, ready to pull up stakes and disappear if it turns out that Goro _does_ plan to turn them in.

But if Goro’s going to sink a knife into his back Akira wants to be there to see it. It won’t make the sting any less painful but it might make it a little more _real_.

Makoto and Haru leave with a promise to watch the news carefully tomorrow, and eventually as the sunlight filtering in the cafe grows dimmer, Futaba yawns and stretches..

“We’re as ready as we’re going to be,” she says, bringing her arms back down and nudging Goro. “The rest is up to you, mister police man.”

“Is that what I am,” Goro says lightly, and it’s only because he’s listening for it that Akira can hear the strain in it.

“Tomorrow,” he says, meeting Goro’s eyes with his own and willing his heart not to beat out of his chest. “Tomorrow you’re a detective. Tonight you’re still one of us.”

Goro’s gaze turns thoughtful and perhaps - although maybe it’s just wishful thinking - the tiniest bit _longing_.

“No room for middle ground, I suppose,” he says, looking back down at his coffee cup, turning it idly between his hands.

“There’s always a middle ground,” Akira argues, and this is stupid but he can’t seem to stop himself. “It’s just a question of where you _want_ to stand.”

“O-kay,” Futaba says, closing her laptop with a _snap_. “I’m going to...go now. I’ll see you tomorrow!” She slides out of her seat and nearly sprints for the door; Akira can’t seem to look away from where Goro’s conspicuously _not_ looking at him, even as the door jingles shut behind Futaba. Silence falls over the cafe in her absence, and the air grows thick, stifling, and _still_ Goro refuses to look up.

All at once Akira is _tired_ , exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with the pace at which he’s been pushing them for the last few days. He heads for the front door, flipping the lights as he passes. It doesn’t matter if he closes early; he’s not going to be open at all tomorrow. Maybe not ever again, depending on how tomorrow goes. He turns the sign from _Open_ to _Closed_ and takes a deep, careful breath.

“You have a place here,” he says quietly. “If you want it.”

When he turns Goro is finally looking at him, gaze so intent it stills Akira’s breath in his lungs. He looks like he’s weighing something - maybe his career, maybe the past few weeks, maybe Akira himself. His fingers turn the coffee cup in his hands and then still, and Akira has no idea what conclusions he’s reached.

“We should get some sleep,” Goro says finally, looking away. “Before Morgana takes it upon himself to remind us.”

“Sure,” Akira says, trying to breathe through the sinking disappointment. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

By the time he can make himself follow Goro up the stairs, Goro is already in bed, covers tucked tightly around his shoulders. Akira changes quickly and settles on the couch; it’s the last night he’ll have to do so, one way or another, but even so he can’t get comfortable. He turns one way and then the other, and is considering if the floor is _really_ that bad when there’s a rustle of blankets from the other corner of the room.

“Just - get over here, already,” Goro snaps, and when Akira raises his head Goro’s glaring at him and shifting over to one side of the bed.

“Are you -”

“You’re going to keep us both up all night at this rate. Come _on_.”

Akira slowly slips off the couch and pads across the room. The bed is warm where Goro’s been lying, and although they’ve done this once before it’s still a close fit. He settles in on his side, and it already feels like he can breathe easier, like sleep might be a possibility over here. Goro’s breathing sounds steadily in his ears, as it had that first night, and it reminds Akira that there’s a question he’d never voiced. This might well be his last chance to ask.

“How did you know where I’d be? That night at the museum,” he clarifies when Goro raises his eyebrows. It feels like a lifetime ago, but - he has to know. “The strike team was on the third floor, but you were on the first. How did you know?” 

Goro is silent for a long moment. “You never do the expected,” he says eventually. “The strike team _knew_ you were on the third floor. So I knew you were somewhere else. You’ll always put yourself on the line for your team, so I knew they were already gone - you were my best and only chance.”

His voice is flat, methodical, and it twists something in Akira’s chest. He closes his eyes. “You know me so well,” he says. _But not well enough_.

Goro doesn’t answer. Maybe that’s for the best. Akira breathes out and tries to will himself to sleep, letting the white noise of the city calm his racing thoughts. He can feel his limbs growing heavier, and right before he slips away he thinks he feels the bed shift next to him. 

“Of course I know,” Goro says, so softly Akira isn’t sure he’s not already dreaming. “It’s what you did for me.”


	9. Goro

Goro stops on the sidewalk across the street from the front steps of Tokyo Police Headquarters, pretending to examine a window display as he watches the crowd gather behind him. A reasonable person would hold this press conference _inside_ the building, safe from the weather or interference from passers-by; Shido, however, always did enjoy a spectacle and insists on holding his press announcements on the front steps, where everyone can see him.

This once, Goro doesn’t mind. It makes things easier for him.

He checks his phone. Five minutes before the event is scheduled to start; time to start making his way across the street. He’s not incredibly worried about being recognized; no one is necessarily looking for him here, and what people aren’t looking for they don’t generally find. Nevertheless, as he joins the crowd ringing the press he tugs the hood of his jacket down another centimeter; just in case.

The crowd is reluctant to give way, and he has to employ more than one elbow to make it to the front. Akira wouldn’t have this problem, Goro thinks. Akira moves through crowds like he belongs there; unacknowledged but unhindered, like he’s learned the trick of slipping from memory.

Goro wishes he could say it worked on him.

But now’s not the time to be thinking about Akira - Goro makes it to the edge of the space separating the crowd from the press just as Shido steps up to the podium, and there’s no more time to think about anything but the plan.

“Thank you for coming,” Shido starts, and that’s as far as he gets before the simultaneous ring of two dozen phones drowns him out. 

Heads turn and voices raise as the assembled reporters realize that the ringing is coming from _them_ ; phones are fished out of pockets and bags as the jumbled ringtones get louder and louder - 

Then they cut out abruptly, and that’s Goro’s cue.

“Members of the press,” he says, pushing his hood back and stepping forward into the sudden silence. “Thank you for coming today.”

A low murmur ripples through the crowd, heads turning, and Goro sees Shido’s knuckles whiten on the podium. Goro moves forward; the crowd of reporters parts around him, and Goro knows the element of surprise will only take him so far so he has to make this count.

“If you’ll check your phones, you’ll find the same document I received earlier today; the same document now arriving in the inboxes of all major news publications across the city. This document concerns one Masayoshi Shido, and I have no doubt you’ll find the contents as interesting as I did.”

“This is nonsense -” Shido starts, and Goro cuts him off, feeling almost high when it _works_.

“Pharmaceutical fraud. Tax evasion. Illegal and inhumane animal testing. Falsifying arrest warrants.” Another murmur ripples through the crowd at that last item, one that has Goro’s name laced into it. “And that’s just the first three pages. Do you deny it?” Goro asks, coming level with the podium.

“Categorically,” Shido spits.

“I thought you might,” Goro says. He can fill his lips curving up even as he turns his back on Shido; all eyes are on him and he takes a fraction of a second to glory in it before he presses his advantage. He’s flying on guts and gusto, and this could all come crashing down at any second but at long as he keeps talking, he has their attention.

“I imagine that’s your editors,” he says to the crowd of reporters as cell phones start buzzing again. “And I imagine _that_ ,” he says as the police radios start to squawk, “is your commissioner.”

Shido makes an incoherent noise of rage behind him and Goro turns back. “Oh, did I forget to mention?” he says, deadly sweet. “This document landed on his desk this morning.”

For a minute Goro thinks that he’s pushed this too far, that Shido’s going to come over the podium after him; then a uniformed officer puts a hand on Shido’s arm, halting the movement.

“Sir,” the officer says. “I have orders to escort you inside.”

“Not _now,”_ Shido snarls, and the officer’s hand tightens.

“ _Immediately_ ,” the officer says, and Goro smiles wide and bright.

“Handcuffs are always an option,” he says. “Just imagine that headline.”

Shido’s face is an ugly shade of red but he draws in a deep breath, peeling his fingers off the podium and letting the officer draw him away. Two more uniforms fall in behind them, and if it’s not quite led away in chains it’s still enough to light something warm and satisfied in Goro’s chest.

Then there’s a microphone in front of his face and a bright-eyed reporter on the other end. “So it’s true, Detective Akechi?” she says. “You were working with the Phantom Thieves?”

“Let me tell you about the Phantom Thieves,” he says, turning to face her - and the cameraman behind her - more fully. He draws in a breath and amps up his smile -

\- and over her shoulder, at the edges of the crowd, he catches sight of gray eyes underneath a drawn-up hoodie and the words stick in his throat.

This - he should tell them. He should tell the press that he has names and identities for all of the Phantom Thieves, that he’ll release an official statement, that their time terrorizing the city is over. He should clear his name right here and right now; he should cement his reputation by bringing down Masayoshi Shido and the Phantom Thieves on the same day. He’s standing here with the opportunity to take everything he’s ever wanted, everything he’s ever worked for; but with Akira watching him victory suddenly tastes sour and now Goro has a choice to make.

Akira’s expression shifts, and yesterday Goro wouldn’t have been able to read it but today, _today_ it seems clear as daylight and he wonders how he missed this for so long.

And suddenly the choice isn’t difficult at all.

“Detective?” the reporter says. “What do you know about the Phantom Thieves?”

Goro smooths a hand down the front of his jacket and tears his eyes away from Akira’s, locking gazes with the reporter. He smiles.

“I know that if half the contents of this document are true, then the Phantom Thieves have done this city a great service,” he says, speaking clearly into the microphone as the noise of the crowd increases. “I know I owe them a debt of gratitude, for the opportunity to clear my name. That, Ms. -” he checks her name badge, “Yukimura, is what I _know_.”

“So you’ve never worked with the Phantom Thieves,” she presses.

“I couldn’t tell you the first thing about them,” he says. “But I think Shido’s actions speak for themselves.” It’s not strictly a lie - he suddenly can’t bear to divulge Futaba's terrible posture or the way Yusuke stares into space, pen held over the paper while he's seeing - whatever it is an artist sees. They don’t get to dim Ryuji’s enthusiasm or Makoto’s passion; these people don't get to know - don't get to _ruin_ the tiny family he'd found in the last place he expected it. He might not be a part of it - but he realizes with a strength that surprises him that he _wants_ to be. If they’ll let him.

But most of all, this gathered group of reporters and police personnel and the gathering passers-by - they don’t get to know the way Akira looks at him: like he’s important, like he’s interesting, like he _matters_.

And because he’s looking, because he’s paying attention now, out of the corner of his eye he sees the way Akira’s mouth curves up, like he can’t help it.

Goro spots Sae coming through the crowd toward him, and then there are questions to answer and statements to make and paperwork to fill out and oh yes, a warrant for his arrest to be retracted - all of that takes time, and the sun is low in the sky when Goro finally exits Police Headquarters, with promises to return tomorrow and do even more paperwork. He hadn't particularly missed that part of the job, even though it's only been a short while that he's been away from it. It feels longer.

But there's someone waiting for him across the street, leaning against the half-wall that separates the sidewalk from the stairway leading down to the subway. Akira smiles as Goro crosses the street, and Goro smiles back. It feels good.

Akira pushes off the wall and falls into step beside him. “Quite the performance,” he says. “I almost believed you, and I was there.”

“Well, you know,” Goro says, like that says anything at all. 

“Mmm.” Akira hums to himself. “Why didn’t you do it?”

Goro doesn’t bother asking how Akira knows. “Well - if I explained what _really_ happened, I’d probably still be inside that building. Yusuke's inspiration would be interrupted and you know how he gets.” He sneaks a glance over but Akira’s just watching him carefully. “Futaba would whine about moving her setup. Haru's garden would be a lost cause and frankly, I find her more terrifying than any of you. Ryuji would complain endlessly about losing his favorite jogging route, Ann would cry if you told her she couldn't visit her favorite crepe place on the corner anymore, and Makoto would set her sister on me. Morgana would adapt best out of all of you, but he'd get that disappointed look. You know the one."

“All too well,” Akira laughs, shoving his hands in his pockets. They walk another half-block in silence before he says, "I notice I'm nowhere on that list."

"Ah yes. And then there’s you.” Goro swallows. It’s been a long day and his head is starting to ache as the adrenaline finally fades, and he really, _really_ hopes that he hasn’t gotten this wrong.

“You would - you would stop looking at me,” Goro says, and Akira stops walking.

Goro stops turns to face him. “You don’t - I find that I've grown accustomed to how you smile at me as you hand me a cup of coffee in the morning. And I rather like the sound of your laughter when Yusuke uses a particularly terrible pun.”

"But most of all," Goro says, stepping closer. "I like the way you - I like the way you look at me when we're doing nothing at all. Like I matter. Like I'm worth something outside of -" he waves a hand back at the justice building "- all of that."

Akira still hasn't moved, his face shadowed in the setting sunlight. Goro wants to reach out, make him say something; Akira is never at a loss for words, even when he's taken by surprise, but now -

Goro’s emotions had been running high. He might have - there's an outside chance that he's misinterpreted everything, that Akira is trying to figure out how to let him down gently -

He's about to step back again, to...to at least get a little bit of distance again when Akira's hand shoots out and wraps around his wrist. Akira pushes his hood back with his other hand and the smile on his face makes Goro's breath catch in his throat.

"You know, as a confession, ‘you’d stop looking at me’ lacks a certain - something,” Akira says, grinning madly.

Goro laughs, even as he can feel his grin spread to match Akira’s. “It’s been a long day. This is all you get.” Akira's grip slides down his wrist and wraps around his hand. "I’ll take it. Because - I like your smile. The real one, not the one you used for those reporters. I like the little wrinkle you get on your forehead when you're trying to figure something out. I like - _you_ , a lot, and when I said there’s a place for you with us what I really meant was -" Akira takes a deep breath and licks his lips. “There’s a place for you with _me_. If you want it.”

“I do,” Goro breathes, and he’s never meant anything more fervently in his life.

“You told me last night that I always put myself on the line for my team,” Akira says seriously. “Well, today you did the same, and I - I really want to kiss you for it,” he finishes in a rush.

Goro had thought he couldn’t smile any wider but he seems to be trying to prove himself wrong. “Then I suppose you had better kiss me.”

It’s a little difficult, to kiss someone who’s smiling just as widely, but they manage; and as the sun slips below the city skyline Goro thinks that they _will_ manage, whatever that looks like. They’ve done the impossible already. The future shouldn't be too difficult.


	10. Goro

**_Two Months Later_ **

Goro doesn’t look up as someone sits on the corner of his desk, heedless of the careful piles Goro has constructed.

“You’re late,” Goro says.

“Yeah, but I brought lunch.” Akira waves a bag in front of his face, and Goro has to admit that the smells coming from it are - intriguing.

“If you’ve made curry all is forgiven,” he says, saving his file and pushing his chair back. “Did you follow the recipe or your heart?”

Akira grins. “My heart, of course.”

Goro grabs the bag. “Then we’re getting drinks to go with it. Come on.”

They end up in the small green area the ward optimistically calls a park across from the justice building, and sure enough this is Akira’s famous fire curry, potent enough to strip stomach lining but somehow still one of the best things Goro has ever tasted. Akira eats his with a straight face and hands Goro a tissue when his eyes start watering; Goro mumbles that he’s _fine, thank you_ but takes the tissue anyway.

Akira chases the last bite around his bowl. “How’s the Shido case coming?”

Goro swallows. “Swimmingly. The documentation you put together is both thorough and comprehensive; Niijima-san says thank you.”

Akira chokes and Goro grins, slapping him on the back. “Not in so many words, of course; but she did say, and I quote ‘it’s almost as if this was put together by someone who knew what would be most compelling in court.’”

“Does she know?” Akira says when he gets his breath back, and Goro sobers.

“No. At least - not from me. But I think she suspects.”

Akira’s gaze is piercing. “Is this going to be a problem?”

“I thought the Phantom Thieves were in retirement,” Goro says lightly. “But no. Sae-san is very - justice oriented, and Shido’s crimes were extensive. The document is _very_ clear on that.”

Akira laughs, leaning back against the bench in satisfaction. “It certainly is, and they certainly were.” He glances over. “And I hear that you’re in line for a promotion.”

Now it’s Goro’s turn to inhale his food. “You have _got_ to tell Futaba to stop monitoring the police networks,” he says when he can breathe again.

Akira grins unrepentantly. “ _You_ tell her. Maybe she’ll even listen.”

Goro sighs. “I highly doubt that.”

Akira shifts, laying an arm on the bench behind Goro’s shoulders. He leans in close, breath tickling Goro’s ear. “ _Special_ Detective Goro Akechi,” he breathes, and Goro shivers. “Does that come with _special_ equipment?”

Goro turns, meeting Akira’s eyes from centimeters away. He raises an eyebrow. “Tired of the handcuffs?”

Akira grins. “Never, Detective.” He leans in and his lips are warm, pushy as always, and Goro leans into it.

“I have to get back to work,” he says reluctantly when they break apart. “But I’ll see you tonight?”

“Mm. Tonight,” Akira says, leaning in for a quick kiss on the cheek. “Tomorrow,” he says with another. “Every night, for as long as you want,” he says against Goro’s skin, and Goro turns so he can kiss him properly.

“For as long as you’ll have me,” he murmurs against Akira’s lips, and it’s sappy but it’s true, and anyway it’s worth it for the way Akira’s lips break into a smile. “But let’s start with tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [thirtysixsavefiles](http://thirtysixsavefiles.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr and [@36SaveFiles](https://twitter.com/36SaveFiles) on Twitter!


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